


#SoulmateSearchParty

by SnarkyBreeze



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Plant Wrote This, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Businessman Christophe Giacometti, Camboy Phichit Chulanont, Christophe Giacometti & Victor Nikiforov Friendship, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, YOI Secret Skater 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22056532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkyBreeze/pseuds/SnarkyBreeze
Summary: Christophe Giacometti doesn't care about soulmates.He cares about work, the figure skating fandom, and matchmaking.But definitely not soulmates.However, when his body is covered with marks from his soulmate's wild night, Chris finds it pretty hard to ignore his soul connection...
Relationships: Phichit Chulanont/Christophe Giacometti
Comments: 14
Kudos: 96
Collections: Yuri!!! on Ice Secret Skater 2019





	#SoulmateSearchParty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DiamondWinters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondWinters/gifts).



_xXxbilabial-beautyxXx_

Christophe stared at the mark on his shoulder for a moment, scrawled as it was in what looked like permanent marker. He knew better, but he wetted his thumb and rubbed anyway, only to confirm that it did, indeed, remain as unsmudged as though he’d tried to wipe off a tattoo. The letters were a little clumsy, but round and precious, as though they’d been drawn on awkwardly with a sincere attempt at style. He traced the lines curiously with the edge of his fingernail, ignoring the goosebumps that caught the hairs at the back of his neck and thrust them upward, and continued taking off his shirt. He kept his eyes trained on the mirror for the first sign of any other writing.

It had been a normal day for Chris up until now. He’d been unusually productive, considering it was a Friday. A major sales pitch meeting had gone more or less in his favor thanks to a presentation he’d been toiling over all week. He’d caught the attention of Josef Karpisek himself and had smized his way through a flattering and intimidating _tete a tete_ after everyone had dispersed.

It had all been exhausting, and that was all _before_ drinks with Vitya Darling, where Chris’ best friend and closest advisor had fussed and worried aloud for two consecutive bottles of pinot gris that the systems analyst Chris had been trying to set him up with still hadn’t mentioned _anything_ about soul marks and he didn’t know whether it would be sensitive to bring up.

If Chris hadn’t already slept with both Vitya _and_ the systems analyst, he probably wouldn’t have set them up. Matchmaking wasn’t necessarily taboo, per se, but it was widely considered irrelevant by the mass of people who constantly checked their skin for hints about what their soulmate was up to.

Chris had never made much of the whole _soul connection_ thing. He wasn’t exactly the type to settle, and he wasn’t exactly the type to accept as fate something that he could easily manifest through his own workings.

Soulmates were just sort of boring. Christophe wasn’t interested in walking a path of undeterminable length only to meet up with someone who he’d know instantly was perfectly compatible to his every trait and taste. There was no chase, no breathless longing, no excitement over the brush of knees under the table at dinner. There was no work inolved, no trial and error, only waiting and wishing.

Others waited and wished. Christophe preferred to lure and strike.

That wasn’t to say he flat-out ignored his soulmate. The writing had been appearing on his hands and arms for years. Sometimes colorful doodles, sometimes shopping lists--when he was young, his hands were almost always covered in a rainbow of glittering gel-ink pen. These days, the marks were more scarce. An occasional mark on the hand that probably signaled re-entry to a club, sometimes a date or a time scribbled in neat, round letters.

Chris’ eyes drifted back to the familiar, bubbly letters angled precariously across his shoulder. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

It didn’t matter. Hopefully Soulmate was having fun with whatever debauchery they were up to tonight. Hopefully they’d wash this one off before hot yoga the next morning.

_”Mon petite chouette, Où es-tu?”_

From somewhere in the dark, empty apartment, a Persian cat named Carmen chirped stubbornly. She was so cranky on long work days. Chris pulled an old, square tea tin from the windowsill as he wandered through the kitchen and shook a few fish-shaped crunchies into his palm. He shook the can subtly, like maybe the sound would lure her out from her cave of spite a little sooner, and shoved the treats into the pocket of his lounge pants before starting on a cup of tea.

_tkr83947_

_i <3 u!!_

The new mark snagged his attention from the corner of his eye, reflected in stark contrast to his skin in the polished surface of the stainless steel sink, this time spelled out in two little arcs on his left pectoral. Framing his nipple.

Soulmate was having a hell of an evening.

Chris tried to shake off the creeping curiosity. He picked a few bags of citrus hibiscus tea out of a tin and set them in to steep, rolling his sore shoulders as he wandered into the dark to check his figure skating Twitter feed before bed. He’d raved about Michelle Kwon with a few female friends as a child, and eventually the girls moved on to other interests, but Chris’ infatuation had shaped him into a genuine lifelong fan. These days, that meant staying up all hours of the night to catch streams of of the Grand Prix events, perusing fan forums, and obsessively watching and re-watching his favorite programs.

He used to post almost exclusively Lambiel content. His adolescence had been steeped in secret wishes that somehow, some stupid how he’d one day wake up and realize that he and Stephane were fated soulmates… but that hope was quashed pretty quickly. Along with all hopes for a soulmate at all.

Honestly, he really didn’t care.

These days, while Lambiel had very much remained in the public eye, Chris had found a new favorite competitor. It had been hell going through his usual exhausting work day knowing that he was missing the final competition in the Grand Prix series, but he’d resigned himself not to check scores or gossip until he was home.

Phichit Chulanont had been rising in the ranks for about three years now, and Chris had been a follower from his first podium at Four Continents. His programs were attention-grabbing and ambitious while never losing their playful tone. Phichit was almost otherworldly in nature, overflowing with personality and positivity off the ice just as often as on it. His energy was contagious, his talent undeniable, and his body was absolutely delicious to behold.

The Thai Sensation hadn’t been competing that night, though, which was why Christophe hadn’t flaked on his plans with Vitya Darling. The scores were still important, but they were nothing he’d find himself screaming about on Twitter all night. He didn’t dislike the medalists. A few, like that upstart new Czech fellow who’d snagged bronze, were almost, _almost_ beginning to stand a chance in competing with Phichit for his interest.

As he held his iPad in his lap, Chris noticed a scrawl of the same black ink start to creep across the heel of his hand. He chuckled a bit. Soul marks weren’t usually a clustered event. There were exceptions, of course: During college exams, many of his friends found their arms covered with hastily-scrawled notes and reminders. Those same years brought the inevitable risk of soulmates over-partying, of waking up covered in the obscene scribblings of drunken frat boys or alarmingly-numerous tally marks. Normally, though, there wasn’t much contact with one’s soulmate in adulthood. Maybe the reminder of an important meeting here or there. A shopping list, a phone number. Nothing beyond the mundane.

With the third mark, Christophe was beginning to suspect that he’d breached the confines of the ‘mundane’. He curiously held up his palm in the lamplight, running a finger over the neat, round letters.

_#SoulmateSearchParty_

He stared for far longer than necessary, taking in each word on its own, and then all three together, and then each on their own again. There was nothing spectacular about any of it. They weren’t _nonsense,_ although as hard as Christophe tried he wasn’t able to glean any sort of meaning from them. Even less so when he considered the cryptic codes that still lingered on his torso. His soulmate had never made an attempt to connect with him, even when they were kids. They’d never done the sort of silly, romantic exchange of messages on their arms, like his friends had. Together--and it wasn’t uncommon, either, this school of thought--they had for the most part lived their own lives, unaffected by the connection that burned itself into their skin. What had changed? Why now?

He adjusted the dimmer on his lamp, shedding a bit more light into the stillness of is apartment, and opened FaceTime.

“Christophe, _ça va?”_ Viktor was curled up with a faux fur throw draped carelessly around him and hispanting pooch, a glass of red wine in his hand. It didn’t appear to be his first since arriving home. “I thought you were leaving me to my own devices until I worked up the courage to message Yuuri.”

“...Which I assume you’ve done by now?” Chris asked, sipping his tea as he stacked a few books on which he could prop up his tablet.

Viktor frowned.

“I’m still waiting on a follow approval. His Instagram is locked, his Twitter is locked, it doesn’t look like he’s on--” He stopped, squinting blearily into his screen. “Do… do you know you have some marks blossoming across your glorious pecho, _mon chérie?”_

“Intimately,” Christophe hummed. “I was hoping to see what you made of them.”

As their drinks dwindled, they examined the marks together. They made quick work of overthinking the entire ordeal, contemplating the order in which they’d appeared, their placement, until finally Viktor caved and pulled his computer into his lap.

“Nothing on Twitter,” he reported, pulling on a pair of narrow reading glasses and sipping dutifuly from his glass. “Nothing on Instagram. I’m going cross-platfo-- _oh Jesus.”_ He pressed a finger to his lips as if it would be any help in concealing the smirk that was forming there, his eyes fixed on Christophe and brimming with sheer amusement. “It would seem we’re receiving another clue, dear.”

With a start, Chris looked down to find another mark forming, the letters descending slowly, deliberately down the center of his torso.

_J_

_u_

_s_

_t_

♥

_S_

_a_

_y_

♥

_P_

_l_

_e_

_a_

The first heart centered perfectly just below his nipples. The second was looped playfully around his navel. The rest of the mark, he assumed, continued down past his waistband, although he wasn’t about to test that theory in front of Viktor, tipsy as he was.

“That’s…” Viktor choked, his eyes widening as he peered over the tops of his readers. “That’s…”

Suddenly the chamomile and valerian weren’t nearly strong enough.

“Search, search, search,” Christophe urged, jumping to his feet to find himself a goddamn drink. He could hear, even as he poured three fingers of the bourbon his boss had bought him after his first big deal, Viktor’s raucous laughter crackling from the speakers of his iPad.

“What?? What, why are you laughing??” he pleaded, throwing himself back on the couch and unlocking his phone to do some searching on your own. “Did you find it??”

“Your ass says, ‘Kiss me’,” Viktor chortled. “Chris, are you sure you want to find this out? I thought this wasn’t your thing! What if you find out, and--”

Chris was certain Vitya Darling had finished that sentence, was sure he had a reasonable point to make, but for the blood pounding in his ears he could not hear a word of it. He’d been scrolling through a search engine on a private tab in his web browser. Most hits were confidential ads, a few social media groups, the like, but one in particular, two pages in, caught his attention.

HornPub Live - Adorable Twink GORGEOUS Body Could Be YOUR Soulmate (LIVE) \- #SoulmateSearchParty Free Public Cam! Are you MY soulmate? $ - Your username, my choice ♥ $$ - Your username, your choice ♥ $...

He clicked. He didn’t mean to. Or, at least, he didn’t _want_ to mean to… He was just doing research. He was just following a lead. This wasn’t how he was going to spend his evening or anything. It wasn’t anywhere close to his thing. He wasn’t interested in soulmates, and he certainly wasn’t interested in…

The video blinked in and out for a moment as bandwidth and streaming caught up with him. In the meantime, Christophe took in a disgusting array of ad banners featuring the most cartoonish and grotesque cariacitures of what could only loosely be described as ‘sex’. Underneath the video player, he learned that that last donor bracket (the exchange rate of which was very artfully hidden away somewhere in the inner workings of the site) offered ‘anything you like, anywhere you like!’. To the side, a chat window scrolled almost faster than he could read it.

**Just♥Say♥Please** sent $$!

 **Daddy8Point5:** nice body

 **Just♥Say♥Please:** Happy trail down to your cock for me

 **Just♥Say♥Please:** 👅So sexy

 **HamsterHorror:** Thank you, **Just♥Say♥Please**!!💖💕💝

 **Daddy8Point5:** show us your feet

 **tkr83947:** fuck off perv

 **Just♥Say♥Please:** just came to this

 **helikestosuckit:** hey

 **tkr83947:** i cummed so hard to

 **helikestosuckit:** hello

 **helikestosuckit:** do you to pm for me?

 **helikestosuckit:** how to pm

 **helikestosuckit:** your hot lol

 **helikestosuckit:** you want to tsate my cock

The playback audio kicked on suddenly, and Christophe was torn away from the trainwreck of a chat feed by a twinkling, demure laughter.

“Sorry darling, my private sessions are by appointment only. Although for the right price, I can be flexible! Don’t you want to come claim your space?”

Chris stared at the figure on the video stream, carefully framed within the shot to show his body curled up among a number of plushies and pillows, soft-looking and candy-colored to make the model’s surroundings all the more dreamy and innocent. His body, however, looked anything but innocent: nude save for a pair of sheer black, lacy briefs that were ineffective in covering anything, the model sat with legs splayed impressively far apart and ran two slender hands over his body, tweaking and pinching and playing as he went. A brush too close to those briefs would cause their contents to twitch obscenely.

Christophe wasn’t shy about sex, but the sight of the man laid out and preening in front of him still made him burn, still caused his jaw to fall slack and his stomach to twist with restless heat. He was slender, the man on the screen, and beautifully toned, his muscles defined despite his size, his posture soft and pliant. But those weren’t enough to cause Christophe’s pulse to race on their own. They didn’t spark panic that squeezed at the back of his throat, nor the acute awareness that he was still on call with Vitya Darling.

There were three distinct things about the man now palming himself through those see-through panties on Christophe’s phone.

The first, most undeniable detail: He bore every mark that had appeared on Christophe’s skin. His shoulder, his chest, his abdomen, the palm he flashed periodically at the camera to remind his viewers of the evening’s events. They all matched perfectly. That was the easiest to come to terms with, actually. It was odd, the sudden certain realization that his soulmate was _real,_ an actual person with an actual life, and that for the first time, Christophe had a window into that life… or one very specific aspect of it.

The other details were… well, they were maddening more than anything. They were exactly the sort of seemingly-innocuous things that no one should ever notice. That no one should ever be looking for, despite the fact that Christophe almost always was, that he was almost always harboring this swirling amalgamation of useless information that proved very important in his own life… and in no other context.

Soulmate was a figure skating fan. Chris knew, because Chris recognized the poster in the background of the shot, even out of focus as it was. 2015 Fantasy on Ice. He had the very same poster on the inside of his closet door; he’d splurged and bought himself the trip all on his own to go and see Phichit Chulanont and Stephane Lambiel skate on the same ice.

That was enough of a coincidence to write off the option of ‘fate’. Sure, they were soulmates, it was undisputed, but that didn’t mean they were fated in any way.

There were… _more things,_ things about which Chris simply wouldn’t allow himself to entertain any thought. It was stupid; he had no way of finding this man, and he had no way of proving his stupid, obsesive pattern recognition could…

 _”Mon pétit prince,_ it’s time to come down off your little spaceship,” Vitya Darling groaned. “What’s going on? You’ve just been stari-- _are you watching porn!?”_ The scandal in his voice was clear. “What’s that moaning?”

“It’s porn,” Christophe muttered, not daring to tear his eyes away from his phone even as he reached across to the table and ended his call with Vitya.

This couldn’t be happening. He was supposed to be having a normal, relaxed Friday night in. This was supposed to be a weekend free from wild exploits and focused on self-care. This… what Chris was doing, what he was about to do was definitely the _opposite_ of self-care.

HamsterHorror, the ‘Adorable Twink with a GORGEOUS Body’, had a lot of very interesting plushies.

 _Hamster_ plushies.

It had to be coincidence. It had to be Christophe’s fannish mind seeking connections where there were none.

But that voice… The model laughed again, always so cheery, even in the face of the brutish, horrendous discourse spelling itself out in his chat feed.

“Sorry, sweetie, I’m saving myself for my soulmate! Will you help me look for them? Oh!” A little chime sounded, distorted and gated over the stream. “That’s our next threshold! I guess it’s time for these to come off…”

**Daddy8Point5:** shut up n touch r fuxking cock

 **helikestosuckit:** play with yr ass baby

 **helikestosuckit:** let me see yr face

 **helikestosuckit:** what if your my soulmate?

 **tkr83947:** lol fucking idiet you’d know by now

Chris made a point of hiding chat when he switched over from his phone to his tablet. In fact, he put his newly-found soulmate on full-screen, refilled his glass of wine, and moved his operation to the bedroom, dragging a strange, heavy shame behind him with every step.

It was less shameful, he thought, that he would be finding himself turned on by discovering his soulmate performing in this way. After all, it was hot. He couldn’t deny the guy was good; the way he feathered his fingers over his chest and ribs, the carefree recline that put all of his finest assets on display… that was exactly the sort of thing that might pique Christophe’s interest.

There wasn’t anything shameful in patronizing sex work. Well… the dregs of society that were currently fighting one another in the chat window were an untenable contradiction to that belief… but Christophe believed it all the same. It wasn’t something he would normally do, just like putting any serious thought into his soulmate wasn’t something he would normally do, but tonight had been anything but normal, so why not join the fun for a little bit? Unwind? Hell, maybe his weird, sick inkling was right…

It’s just…

His demeanor, his build, everything down to the plushies on his bed reminded Chris of Phichit. It was stupid. It was the kind of silly, fantastical hope that had led him to scribble little hearts on his fingertips and cheeks during Lambiel’s skates when he was younger… a hope cultivated in fallacy only to prove itself wrong and leave Chris feeling let-down and jaded. A sort of self-damnation that would push him further into his rejection of the societal expectations and into a self-destructive habit of chewing up potential partners and spitting them out like used gum.

But it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t like he was going to meet this man anyway. It wasn’t like he was actually figure skating champion Phichit Chulanont, either.

Chris was tipsy, he was lonely, he was exhausted from selling himself out all week, and he just wanted to fantasize for one night. He watched as the figure on the screen pulled lavishly at his ass cheeks, revealing every deep, delicious inch of himself, before teasing a slippery-looking finger around the puckered skin of his pert little asshole, massaging and prodding for just a moment, and sliding it all the way in.

The moan that escaped his lips was beautiful and breathless with a hint of that chipper, giggly spirit just underneath. Christophe had to hold himself back from instantly dropping a hand into his lap and getting off on the wanton display; he wanted to see more of this man, at least tonight, and he knew that if he wasn’t careful, if he let himself get greedy, it would all be over for too soon.

He was growing painfully hard in his sweats, his arousal demanding some sort of release, but he was too interested in seeing where his soulmate would take him to do anything about it just yet.

Another chime sounded, and then another giggle, followed by a startled gasp.

“All right, don’t expect this to be neat; you caught me left-handed…”

HamsterHorror’s left hand drifted down right next to where he was already fingering himself, a marker held in a shaky grasp as he attempted to draw what looked like it might have been a winky face on the underside of his right thigh.

“There! You’re making me work… thank you…”

The gratitude dissolved into another blissed-out sigh, and Christophe caught the little jump that momentarily dimpled HamsterHorror’s ass cheeks as he slid another finger in to join the first, massaging his insides with rapid, jerking thrusts as his other hand drifted once more to the base of his cock.

“Two… more thresholds…” the model panted, grinding down into his own fingers as he spoke, “next one… I’ll fuck my Bad Dragon… then… _fuck…_ then…”

Chris thought he knew what the ‘then’ was. He sort of wanted to see it. Laying on his stomach, trapping his own desire against the mattress, he sipped indulgently at his wine and watched the careful ministrations of his soulmate on the screen. Every gasping breath, every little, heady moan warmed him from the inside out, pulsed through him in waves that made it almost impossible to wait. He was beyond turned on at this point. He was getting off to a livecam tonight, for the sole purpose that it was his soulmate on that cam, or possibly because he vaguely resembled Christophe’s figure skating fave… it was all becoming a bit confused in his mind. Everything that wasn’t a hungry, pulsating want was clouded by neediness, and Christophe felt himself start to slip the bounds of his self-control.

He wanted his soulmate to know he was there.

He jumped to his feet to fumble around in the desk by his bed, his free hand palming lazily at the base of his cock, relieving a bit of the tension he’d pent up. He rummaged around until he found a pen, tested it quickly on the palm of his right hand (HamsterHorror wouldn’t see, what with it being buried over and over again in his ass), and found it to be good.

He couldn’t just go scribbling on himself right away.

He needed the right moment, something personal and secret, something to turn his soulmate on in return. Until then, he lay in wait, stroking desperately at his cock as he watched HamsterHorror do the same.

And then, just when he thought he could take it no longer, just when he was going to have to either finish or ease up, his moment came. The chime of another threshold being reached sounded, and Christophe watched as the figure on the screen shuffled around a bit, on his hands and knees, reaching out-of-frame for whatever ‘Bad Dragon’ was.

HamsterHorror’s shins and ankles were a mess of bruises, athletic tape, and bandages. There was no way he was anything more than an amateur skater, one who just happened to have plushies that looked like the ones Phichit received after his skates, had posters from ice shows that had featured the Thai skater himself.

He must have been a fellow fan, that was all.

There was no way...

It was too good to be true, but the fantasy of it all was too much for Chris to bear. He watched as HamsterHorror produced a large, otherworldly purple dildo, one that might have been anatomically correct on some sort of fantastical, phallic monster, and positioned it beneath himself on the bed. Watched as he lined himself up with its tip just barely teasing his entrance.

Slowly, deliberately, Chris began to write on his own thigh. HamsterHorror’s was facing away from the camera, was practically right in front of his obscured face. There was no way any of the chat feed patrons would see, and there was no way HamsterHorror wouldn’t.

_Hope you_

_think_

_of me… ♥_

He wished--not only to validate his suspicion--that he could see the wide eyes that accompanied the yelp as HamsterHorror eased himself down onto the purple toy.

“What the-- _ahhhh…”_

 _Good boy,_ Christphe wrote, palming himself once more with his left hand. _So beautiful._

“Holy shit… who… which one of…” HamsterHorror panted, fucking himself down over the toy more vigorously now. “Fuck… yes.. Wow… more… please…”

Without stopping to think, without filtering out the obscene things going through his head, he began to write wherever he can find an empty place. He scratched out every stupid, perverted username burned into his skin, replacing them in all caps with his own brand: _’MINE.’_ He carved _’Beautiful’_ and _’Perfect’_ and _’Delicious’_ and every thirsty word that flashed through his head as he thrust into his hand, spurred on by the increasing intensity of his soulmate’s wailing on the screen as he rode his curvy purple cock into oblivion.

They must have been putting on quite a show, the two of them, because the chime that signaled another payment sounded again and again, so rapidly it sounded like a chorus accompanying the model’s musical moans, until that one distinct sound signaled his last threshold.

Christophe wrote from one hipbone to the other, painfully slow, and watched HamsterHorror slow with anticipation as he did.

_Come only for me, my soulmate._

HamsterHorror’s cries shorted out the audio on Christophe’s phone as his strokes quickened, struggling to keep rhythm as his hips jerked erratically over the pretty purple toy. A few quick thrusts into his palm, a high-pitched, breaking yell, and the figure froze for a moment, shuddering as thick streams of come spilled over his stomach and chest. Christophe, too, felt the telltale curl of heat low in his abdomen before releasing with a ragged moan into his hand, his body seizing as flashes and sparks whited out his vision.

Almost instantly, the feed cut out, the screen informing Christophe that the stream had been ended by the host, and all of a sudden, Christophe was alone in the dark of his room, wrecked and embarrassed as he surveyed the mess he’d made of his own skin.

On the back of his hand, a new mark formed, ten digits and a scattering of hearts and stars, then _’WOW’_ over and over again, all the way down his wrist.

He laughed. That had been… really, really hot.

And the souldmate thing was still kind of stupid.

But he added the number into his phone anyway.

And because he was tipsy and brainless from what had genuinely been one of the best fucks of his life… he snapped a picture of his marked-up chest and sent it before he could second-guess himself.

_I supose it was only a matter of time before you found me._

Moments later, a picture of the same torso from the stream came in, its markings identical.

_I’m so glad I did. What’s your name, soulmate?_

Christophe scrolled through his phone for a moment, picked out one of his most flattering selfies, and sent it.

_The pleasure is all mine, chérie. I’m Chris._

And then it happened. 

The impossible. 

The too-good-to-be-true. 

A flickering of three dots signaled typing before they were replaced with a familiar shining, winking face, a toothy grin, a perfect profile brandishing a peace sign. 

_Nice to meet you Chris! I’m Phichit!_

It was surreal. He was surely dreaming. He’d passed out from the wine long ago, was still snoring in his sweatpants in the darkness of his living room. It had to be. 

Otherwise… if that wasn’t the case… 

Maybe this soulmate thing was going to turn out all right after all. Maybe he hadn’t given it enough of a chance. 

Just…. Just maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are always accepted and appreciated - I want to hear your feedback and I will never respond negatively, even if you have a criticism or a problem. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Subscribe or follow me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/snarkybreeze) for more updates!


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